The Accidental Slytherin
by Rhoux
Summary: Set during the books, a little first year girl becomes the only muggle-born ever to be sorted into Slytherin. No one knows why exactly, only that the sorting hat has the last word. Year after year, Snape wonders how on earth she came to be in his house.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer; **I own nothing, etc etc...

**The Accidental Slytherin: Chapter One**

"SLYTHERIN!" the sorting hat roared for the final student that year.

There was a collective gasp among the crowd that filled the great hall, and then total silence. For ages no one said a word; they all just stared at the frightened first year who sat frozen on the stool at the front of the room.

There was no denying that Cécil was what she was, even if she didn't realize it herself. Anyone who'd taken the train ride to school only hours earlier (which was everyone) knew she'd been the last to make it through platform nine and three quarters. They had all seen as she'd scrambled aboard only seconds before departure, horrifically out of place clad head to toe in muggle clothing , obviously disoriented by her strange and new surroundings.

Furthermore... Slytherins almost always knew other Slytherins. Pure-bloods were usually raised together, and half-bloods were few and far between. Thanks to the house's prejudice founder, a muggle-born Slytherin was simply unheard of.

A stunned Professor McGonagall took the hat from the Cécil's head.

Not understanding something was wrong exactly, and figuring she was now sorted, Cécil stepped down to join the Slytherin table when the elderly woman grabbed her arm. As anxious as she was to be off display, she couldn't deny the small and strange relief she felt at the gesture. The students there didn't look particularly welcoming to her.

"Wait... we should try this again I think, Miss..." she glanced at the scroll, "Zydel." McGonagall said, smiling faintly. She looked just as confused as the girl felt, and motioned her back to the stool.

Obediently, Cécil sat down again, still frightfully aware that several hundred eyes were on her. The professor replaced the hat on her head and they waited...

Nothing happened.

Five minutes passed and still nothing happened until McGonagall tried tapping the hat with her wand.

"Wha-?" the lumpy fabric mumbled as if it had already spent another year in hibernation. "You again eh? You think I'm wrong?"

Everyone in the great hall leaned forward, never having seen the hat make a mistake before.

"Zydel... Zydel..." the sorting hat adjusted itself atop Cécil's head, appearing to think. "No," it sang out, "I said... _Slytherin_, and I _mean _Slytherin! SLYTHERIN! SLYTHERIN! _SLYTHERIN_!" it yelled.

If if were possible, reactions across the room were now even more shocked than they had been the first time the hat had sorted her. Cécil shrank in her seat when a wave of boos erupted from the table she supposedly belonged to.

"Oh dear, you'd better come with me," McGonagall whispered, taking her arm again and leading her out a side door.

As they left, Cécil could hear students remarking loudly, and even shouting that 'the professors would have this fixed' and 'of course they wouldn't let a _mudblood_ into Slytherin,' whatever that meant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer; **I own nothing, etc etc...

**The Accidental Slytherin: Chapter Two**

Away from the taunts, Cécil shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot in what appeared to be a small sitting room. There was a cozy fire in the grate and she wished desperately that she could feel as comfortable as the warmth obviously meant for her to.

"Wait here just a moment," McGonagall told her. It was a struggle not to cry once the professor was out of the room.

What had just happened exactly? All of this was so new, she could hardly begin to wonder. Up until she'd received her letter, Cécil's life had been about as magical as a rock, and everything related to it equally unspectacular. She'd only been able to purchase her school books just days before the start of the semester, and that had been a feat in itself. Only when she'd had a chance to read them would she be able to claim any kind of knowledge of this new world, and given her reading skills that could very well take weeks or more.

She sighed, letting herself plop into a nearby armchair when she was immediately on her feet again. The door to the great hall swung open, and McGonagall returned with several other professors.

"Do you think it was wrong? Has the hat ever erred before?" asked a very short man Cécil hadn't noticed before.

"Not as long as I've been here, but I can't possibly imagine..." McGonagall trailed off.

Cécil locked eyes with a tall figure standing near the doorway. He was dressed from head to toe in black robes, with hair every bit as dark. Silently, he stepped forward, and she felt herself shrink under his gaze like she had in the great hall under the accusing stares of the legions of students.

"What's more," he seemed to hiss, "I don't know how I'm going to keep the other Slytherins from tearing her apart." He articulated each word carefully in a way that frightened her, and she took a faltering step back.

"I guess I should just... go back home..." she volunteered quietly when no one said anything else.

"What?" The dark haired professor who's name she didn't know yet asked, "Go back to being nothing but a muggle? How exciting."

His tone was mocking and she blinked back tears of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry I just thought..." She started, but was saved the trouble of explaining when the headmaster swept in. Finally, someone was smiling at her.

"Ah... why so grave everyone? We should be ecstatic! It would seem that the discrimination of Slytherin house has been lifted with time."

"More likely this girl is unclear of her parentage," the dark professor remarked.

Professor Dumbledore's face fell as he seemed to recall something.

"I guess that is possible... Cécil?" he asked, "You live only with your mother, correct?"

"Yes Sir."

"And on your application your mother writes that your father is dead, correct?"

"Yes Sir," she nodded, afraid of disappointing him. "But... really, I can't imagine my father..." she trailed off, not about to get into her past with a group of strangers. The truth was, she knew very well who her father was, and that he very well _wasn't_ dead, but it was still a stretch to imagine him as magical in any way.

"So there's a chance then," Dumbledore smiled. "What I think we should all take from this is that... Slytherin house is changing whether she's muggle born or not. You say you've never had any kind of magic in your household, child?" he asked her.

She shook her head no.

"I thought not, and that proves it. Students chosen for that house, as we all know, are those that have been surrounded by magic since birth. Whether they realize they are a witch or wizard until they get their letter makes little difference, though they usually do, the point is that they are aware of their magical abilities and seek them. I think this calls for celebration."

"Do you really think that would be wise," the dark professor asked him, sounding annoyed. "I have a mind to think her very life in danger."

The headmaster sighed, "I suppose there is that possibility...but between us, I think I'm going to have an extra nightcap before bed. Now, the students are waiting to start the feast... perhaps Madam Pomfrey wouldn't mind sparing a bed tonight, and you can _explain_ to your house that she is a half-blood. Then, tomorrow morning she can move into her regular dorm and attend classes regularly. As you have already mentioned the danger, Severus, I think it would be best to conceal any other possibility at this point. Otherwise I'm not sure she'll be able to attend. Not here anyways."

…...

It was an awkward trip to the infirmary. The cheerful Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the very short man who's name Cécil never learned had all returned to the great hall to begin the feast. Now escorting her entirely alone was her unfriendly head of house, Professor Snape.

_At least I know his name finally, _she thought for a brief moment, figuring she would be able to ask if she needed something. She squelched the thought as quickly as it had come, realizing quickly that she would sooner die of fright than ask him anything at all. It was just as well; he said nothing either. She struggled to keep up with his long stride and stumbled several times on the stone floor when she couldn't help herself from looking wildly about at all of the artwork and strange decor that filled Hogwarts. She was constantly stopping to gape at something amazing she had never seen before, and then having to run to catch up with the Professor again. She might have wondered at his not noticing, but could see that he certainly did, he just wasn't going to stop for the amusement of some muggle-blood whoever.

Almost to their destination, Cécil felt a tickle on her upper lip. She put her hand up to itch it, but brought it away again when she touched a cold wetness. Her fingers were red and she stared at them, no longer walking.

Snape scowled inwardly at the ridiculous little first year trying desperately to keep pace with him. He was going to take her to the infirmary and return to the feast, the end. There was really no way she could join the other Slytherins in the great hall that night. Not with so much animosity towards her, while they knew she was a muggle-born. He wasn't even sure they would believe him when he told them later that night that she was a half-blood, he could barely believe it himself; but then again, the only thing more unbelievable would be the hat actually admitting a muggle-born into Slytherin at all.

He had to keep himself from scoffing aloud. How ironic, he thought. If only this new development had begun thirty years earlier, how different his life would be...

He shook himself from the idea when they reached the infirmary.

"This is where you will be staying for tonight. See me after class tomorrow to receive further instructions concerning your sleeping arrangements. Madam Pomfrey will be along in a few hours. I trust you'll manage on your own until then." He was about to turn and leave when he realized he was speaking to an empty hallway. His brow furrowed; he'd heard her footsteps only moments ago. Figuring one of the ghosts of the castle had frightened her or she was absorbed in something else new to her eyes, he returned to the previous hallway.

"Miss Zydel," He snapped, angry that she was already complicating his evening more than he had anticipated, "I'm not sure what they taught you in muggle school, but I can assure you that here-" he was silenced by the sight of her lying in a heap at the end of the hallway.

His first thought was that she had somehow died suddenly as he ran over to her crumpled form. He turned her limp body on her back to see if she was breathing, and even though her nose was bleeding and her half open eyes looked vacant and bloodshot, she was. Figuring she had just fainted randomly, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the infirmary.

"Uhhehy" she mumbled against his arm.

Snape set her down on one of the beds near Pomfrey's office, and filled a glass of water for her. She stirred and he put the glass to her lips, ordering her to drink. She took a small sip and pushed it away, still closing her eyes.

"Not interested," she murmured, and he wondered if she was even awake.

He put the glass on the bedside table.

She was sitting up strangely and he considered if it was safe to leave her there until Madam Pomfrey arrived when she spoke again.

"I've made excuses for you for years," she whispered, cracking open her eyes to glare at him.

"Excuse me?" He raised an eyebrow, feeling the hairs on his neck prickle. He could see she wasn't entirely coherent yet.

"You and your precious little Death-Eater friends," she spat.

"What did you say?"

Cécil opened her eyes sleepily to see the face of Professor Snape contorted in anger.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, did I pass out?"

Snape said nothing, and she wanted desperately to disappear into the strange bed she was now sitting on.

"I'm sorry, I... it happens sometimes!" she blurted, embarrassed. "I would have said something but... well I was afraid I wouldn't be able to come. Now I'm not so sure I should have come anyways since I've already made a big problem for everyone..." She could hear herself rambling but couldn't help herself. "If you're going to send me back just do it."

Snape stared intently at her and she shifted weirdly, waiting for him to say something, _anything._

After a moment, he got up to leave.

"See me after class tomorrow for your living arrangements," he told her.

He left before she could reply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer; **I own nothing, etc etc...

**The Accidental Slytherin: Chapter Three**

The Slytherins were still in an uproar by the time Snape made it to their common room that night, and it was several minutes before any of them noticed him standing near the portrait that hung over the doorway. When they finally did see him though, they were immediately quieted, and respectful of his presence.

"Professor Snape," one of the prefects taking his NEWTS class asked, "to what do we owe this honor?"

"Thank you, Avery," he said, acknowledging the mannerly seventh year, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you. Is everyone here in the common room?"

After sending one of the girls to gather anyone from their dormitories, Avery nodded. "All here, Professor."

"Good. Now let me make myself clear because I'm going to tell you only once and expect that to be more than enough to be understood. We have a new student joining us..." he placed his fingertips together for emphasis, "and the unofficial report of the moment is that she is a half-blood. I'm sure we all have a hard time believing this, but frankly _I don't care _what she is, the sorting hat has placed her in Slytherin and unfortunately that's where she's going to stay. I've been informed that anyone slandering her will be expelled, and I will not tolerate such behavior from my own house. You don't have to like her, for all I can imagine she doesn't like you either considering the welcoming you gave her at dinner, but know this, any student unable to tolerate her can pack your bags and be known as the pure blood who let a muggle-born deprive you of your magical education. Dismissed."

"But Professor, isn't there anything you can do?" asked several of the older students at once.

Irritated, Snape turned back from the door. "Believe me, if I had any say in the matter she would be on the train home this moment. _I said _dismissed."

There were murmurs of discontent, but the Slytherins knew well enough that their head of house's word was final. No one asked any more questions as he left the room, and he didn't wait for any.

…...

Though Cécil didn't know it, Snape's words had held at least some degree of weight with their house and her first week of school turned out to be relatively uneventful. Well, uneventful compared to the sorting ceremony. There was a great deal to understand about this new world, and more new sights then she thought she could absorb in a single school year, but she was willing to learn and give it her best shot.

The Slytherins seemed to regard her as an evil they could do nothing about, and took to ignoring her completely. Cécil was used to this sort of treatment, so it didn't exactly bother her, but she did find it somewhat unsettling when all of the other first year girls scooted their beds to one side of the dorm room so they were as far away from Cécil as possible. She wasn't sure what they thought they might catch from her, but she didn't make it an issue. Being avoided was always better than being tormented.

As for her classes, all except one were unlike any she had taken in the muggle world. Strangely, the subject, or at least the idea of the subject she was most familiar with was the one she was doing the worst in so far. History of Magic was turning out to be her daily nemesis and she attributed this to her complete lack of knowledge of the magical world prior to coming to Hogwart's. Next was transfiguration, which she also found difficult, but more enjoyable than history, and charms which she felt similar about. She hated to admit it, but she seemed to be one of the very last students in just about every class to get the hang of whatever spell was being taught. It had taken her all the way to Thursday to _leviosa _that damned feather and even then it had fallen back onto her desk after only rising an inch. She was seriously beginning to consider that though magic apparently existed, it did not within her.

There had also been a flying lesson that had scared the living bejeezus out of her, (again she considered the broom to be magic, not herself) and defense against the dark arts which she didn't know enough about yet to form a real opinion of, except that she _had_ formed a great many new fears since attending.

The only two classes she seemed to be doing any kind of okay in were potions and herbology.

It was commonly known that Slytherins were good at potions, in part because their head of house taught the class and was a favoring prick (or so rumor said), but she couldn't possibly believe his favoritism extended to her.

What Cécil liked was that she found it to be almost the same as cooking, which she had done quite a lot of in the muggle world. Instead of stews and cakes though, she was cooking weird stuff like... draught of waking dreams. She enjoyed herbology as a counterpart because she knew it was merely the skill of gathering ingredients to then be used in potions. In her mind, she lumped the two classes together, and took pleasure in noticing the connection between the subjects. For all she knew, every time she went to Professor Sprout's class, she was merely visiting the spices section at the grocery store.

…...

On the last day of her second week, Cécil was stunned to receive a letter during lunch. Unsurprisingly, it managed to land in her glass of water, but she removed it as carefully as she could and smoothed it out on the table. There was no name on the front, and she stared at it, wondering if her mother had randomly decided to write. It didn't seem likely.

"Scared of owls? Open it stupid," The boy sitting next to her whispered.

She wanted to, really, but... the thought of someone caring about her existence enough to write was almost as scary as it was thrilling.

"Are you deaf, stupid? I said open it," the boy repeated louder, making the kids around him laugh. "That's what people do when they get letters."

Undecided, Cécil peeled her letter off the table and left the great hall, figuring she would at least rather look at it alone. She really hadn't explored the school much so far, mainly for fear of getting lost, but today she headed up an unfamiliar staircase to investigate her ominous treasure.

After turning down only a few hallways, she found a fairly deserted area, and climbed into a windowsill. She stared at her letter another moment before finally just opening it.

_Cécil, _it started. The rest was so smudged from the water it was unreadable until the very bottom which said something about meeting after class and, _Sincerely, Professor Sprout. _

Was she in trouble? Cécil wondered, beginning to panic. Surely, she'd done at least average in that class, unlike her sloppy performance in every other. Squinting, she scanned the letter again, looking for anything at all legible.

_'become aware of your performance in my class' _and _'unsatisfied' _were all she could make out, and her heart sank. Was she going to be dropped? Without herbology, she wondered if she might never have a moment's peace. Upset, she slid off the windowsill so she could head to her next class, which was (unsurprisingly) potions.

She knew she was jumping the gun, and being childish to boot, but it was hard not to drag her feet dejectedly as she made her way to the dungeons. Or... someplace that looked _exactly like the way to the dungeons but wasn't!_

_Shit! _She cursed to herself, knowing she was going to be ungodly late, before breaking out into a run in the opposite direction.


End file.
